The Prisoner

by Omar Shahid Hamid

  Shashlik’s arrest, therefore, created a void in Nawaz’s life. Suddenly stripped of his brain’s trust, he became an impotent schoolboy, blind with rage but unable to articulate what he wanted to do. That’s when the pacing had begun. He had been like this for several days. Initially, Nawaz had been confident that the arrest had been the result of some petty foolishness on the part of a particularly stubborn police officer. He expected that his brother would speak to the IG and have Shashlik released. But it hadn’t worked out that way. It was only after several days that Nawaz started to realize that Shashlik’s arrest had been more than just an attitude problem attributable to Akbar Khan. There were other forces behind this gambit, forces implacably opposed to him, and forces that Yousaf was not willing, or able, to cross.

  Wracked by indecision, Nawaz Chandio had agonized over his next move. Would he stay quiet, biding his time, so as not to give anyone an excuse to overturn his brother’s government? And then, when the time was right, cut just the right kind of deal to get Shashlik back? Or would he live up to his reputation as a man who never compromised with his enemies? The first option may have been the smart political move, but Nawaz Chandio had never made decisions based on what was politically exigent. What mattered more to him was how his legion of devotees looked at him. These were the men whom he always surrounded himself with, violent, untamed men who had fought for him in the mountains and had sworn their lives to his service. He looked at them now and saw in their eyes what they expected of their Sayeen Baba. The enemy had made their move and they needed to respond with equal strength. To do anything else would be unworthy of the great Nawaz Chandio.

  Maqsood Mahr’s office

  Shashlik Khan lounged on the office sofa, scooping mouthfuls of kebab into his mouth, while Maqsood Mahr sat opposite him and lit his thirtieth cigarette of the day. It was only after Shashlik had ravenously devoured his third plate of kebabs and washed it down with a glass of sweet buttermilk that he noticed the worried expression on Mahr’s face.

  “Aren’t you hungry, Maqsood?” Shashlik belched loudly as he spoke.

  “That’s all you can think of right now? Didn’t you hear the call I just received from Dr. Death? Everything we’ve been working for is going to be destroyed. They’re out to get you, and they’ll screw me for having helped you.”

  “You’re being a bit dramatic.”

  “How? You heard him. Dr. Death wants you transferred back to Akbar’s custody. Do you know how difficult it was to have your investigation transferred to me in the first place? Arre, baba, the CM had to beg the IG even for this small favor. Dr. Death had refused him point-blank when he asked for your release. He told the CM that you were engaged in acts of treason. That’s the bloody problem with posting honest officers. You can’t depend on them to be pliable. I warned the CM about this when he was posting Dr. sahib. But at that time, all he was interested in was having a ‘firm, reputable officer at the helm during these difficult times.’ Arre, baba, fuck reputable! You need people like me at times like this, to manage things for you.”

  “Look, the CM did what he had to do at the time. What’s the big deal? Just convince Death to leave me in your tender care. Tell him you’re on the verge of breaking me, and it’s imperative that my custody remains with you because I have vital information to reveal.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying to him for the past ten days. But he’s not listening anymore. Akbar Khan is the IG’s pet. Death was pissed off enough when the CM got the case transferred to me, and, now that he hasn’t seen any results from my investigation, he’s out for my blood. He just told me Akbar’s on his way down to take custody of you.”

  “What? Maqsood, you can’t let him take me back. That madarchod hung me up by my balls. Me, Shashlik Khan! As if I was some common criminal!”

  “That’s not your only problem. If Akbar makes the case against you, you’re going to go away for a very long time. He’s not going to go easy like me. So you better start making some calls to those powerful friends of yours right now.”

  “Maqsood, I have been trying all these days, but that bastard Dr. Death doesn’t listen to anybody’s sifarish. Tarkeen hasn’t answered my phone calls ever since he learned the Bleak House wallahs were after me, and now for the past couple of days, the CM hasn’t called me back either. Death must have prevailed over him to cut me loose.”

  “So speak to Nawaz. Tell him to go to his brother. I don’t understand why he hasn’t done more. I sent him several messages on your behalf.”

  “He wouldn’t. I . . . you don’t understand, Nawaz. He’s a very proud man. He’s not practical like you or me. He would have expected the CM to help me without his having to ask for it. And he certainly won’t go to any police officer or fauji to beg for my release. He’d rather die.”

  “Then what the hell do you want me to do?”

  “Listen, Maqsood, I’m paying you very good money to manage all our affairs with the police. So start earning your keep and start figuring something . . .”

  The color drained from Shashlik’s face when he saw Akbar enter the room.

  “Looks like you’ve fucked up yet another case, Maqsood. No wonder you haven’t gotten any information out of him. This place isn’t an interrogation room, it’s a five-star hotel. Dr. Death is not going to be pleased when he hears about this. Come on, you fat fuck, you’re coming with me to a real thana.”

  “Arre, baba Akbar, look, I was your boss for so many years. I did you so many good turns. Let’s just keep this between ourselves, okay? We can work something out.”

  “I remember all the ‘good turns’ you did for me. Like when you suspended me when I caught that ward boss. This one already offered me three khokhas to let him go and I refused that, so what can you do to top that? As for the IG, I don’t know what kind of chutiya you think he is. He’s not like the other officers that you keep buying up. He’s an honest man, and he knows exactly what you’ve been doing. Why do you think he sent me here?”

  Akbar grabbed Shashlik Khan by the scruff of his neck, causing him to drop the glass of buttermilk in his hand.

  “Arre, baba, you can’t take him without any paperwork. Where’s the warrant? The transfer order?”

  “Maqsood, I don’t have a lot of time to spend arguing with you, so I’m just going to go. I suggest you ask the IG for the paperwork, if you feel so strongly about it.”

  Maqsood Mahr could see his professional life flash by in front of his eyes. He had banked on the fact that Shashlik’s connections with the CM would enable him to push his career forward. But those hopes had turned to dust three hours ago, when Akbar had taken Shashlik. The CM was powerless to help him, Nawaz Chandio wouldn’t even answer his calls, and Dr. Death thought he was an incompetent buffoon at best and an associate of Shashlik Khan’s at worst. If the Bleak House wallahs got word of the fact that he had taken money from Shashlik, that would really be it for him.

  He tore his hair out as he tried to figure out how things had gone so wrong for him. Akbar Khan was sure to be given another promotion for this case. At this rate, one day he would end up as Maqsood’s boss. The thought caused Maqsood so much anxiety that he accidentally lit his cigarette from the wrong end. He was not a sentimental man, but if ever there had been a time in his life when he felt like crying, it was now.

  There was a commotion outside his door. Loud voices, the roar of 4x4 engines, and then a burst of automatic weapons’ fire. Maqsood’s first instinct was to duck behind his desk. Surely killing him was a bit of an extreme reaction, even for Dr. Death. But then his orderly rushed into the room and motioned him to come outside. Maqsood was loath to leave the safety of the solid walnut desk, and he emerged only when the orderly had assured him that there was no imminent threat.

  The minute Maqsood Mahr stepped out of his office, he saw the reason for the commotion. Several Toyota pickups were parked in the yard of the office, with a squad of armed men. They all wore armbands affixed with a photo of Nawaz Chandio. They had
fanned out from their pickups and taken positions all over the office compound. Right at the entrance of the office was parked a fire-engine red Mitsubishi Pajero, with the number plate NAWAZ 1.

  Maqsood started slowly advancing towards the lockup area. Inside, Nawaz Chandio was bent over trying to scrutinize a register. He had a red-and-white chequered keffiyeh tied round his neck, Palestinian style. One of his fidayeen announced the arrival of Maqsood. Nawaz Chandio pulled himself up to his impressive six-foot-four height and stared down gravely at the diminutive Maqsood.

  “And who is this turd?” Nawaz asked the question of no one in particular.

  “Sayeen Baba, it’s me, Maqsood Mahr. I’m the SP in charge of investigations. I have been trying to call you for several days. I am one of your father’s oldest supporters. He was the one who was responsible for getting me my job . . .”

  “So you’re the bastard in charge of torturing my friend Shashlik?”

  “No, no, you misunderstand. I haven’t tortured him at all, that was that other haramkhor, Akbar Khan. I was trying to protect him.”

  “Where is he?!” There was violence behind Nawaz’s tone. Maqsood gulped as he saw the anger and frustration in the taller man’s eyes. These emotions had been festering inside Nawaz for the past few days, and it was clear that they were about to boil over.

  Suddenly, he grabbed Maqsood by his lapel and shoved him against the wall. “Where is he?” he screamed the words, his mouth inches away from Maqsood’s face.

  “Uh, Sayeen Baba, I don’t have him anymore. The IG ordered me to hand him back over to Akbar Khan, so I had to. That’s why I have been trying to call you, but I never got a response from—”

  “Shut up! You say you were trying to protect Shashlik, and then you hand him back to the same people who tortured him? And you dare to call yourself my father’s loyalist?”

  The blow felt like a jackhammer to Maqsood. He staggered against the wall like a drunk, too shocked to react in any other way. He could not believe that Nawaz Chandio had just struck him. Yet he still had enough presence of mind to see one of his constables stiffen and reach for his weapon. Immediately he held his hand up, signalling all of his officers to do nothing. Maqsood Mahr had been in this game too long to still have hang-ups about such quaint concepts as self-respect. He could always buy more self-respect, but he would never be able to manage things if the Chandio crown prince was injured or worse in his office.

  One of the fidayeen came up to Nawaz and reported that the compound was indeed empty and there was no sign of Shashlik Khan. The news seemed to restrain Nawaz from further violence, but his anger had not yet abated.

  “Listen, pig, if anything happens to Shashlik, I am going to hold you responsible. I will come back here and hang you from the streetlight, do you hear?”

  Maqsood Mahr kept sitting on the cold lockup floor with his head in his hands, listening to the retreating footsteps of Nawaz Chandio and his men, and he had no doubt that if anything happened to Shashlik Khan, Chandio would fulfill his promise. He knew then that he would have to change the entire dynamics of the game, if he wanted to survive.

  Constantine was intimidated. He shuffled nervously as he rode the elevator to the third floor of Police Headquarters. He had never been on the inspector general’s floor before. You only went there if you were in a lot of trouble, or if you were a senior officer, and since Constantine had been happy to have never been in either predicament, he had never ventured that far.

  A liveried attendant opened the door of the lift, looked contemptuously at the ranks on Constantine’s shoulders, and then turned his disapproving glance towards the door of the conference room. Constantine had to steady himself to stop from slipping on the highly polished marble. The conference room itself had wood panelling and high-backed green leather chairs. Constantine was impressed. So this was where the development fund got spent.

  Several others had already taken their seats in the room before him. Akbar was there, sitting alone on one side of the long conference table, lounging in the chair as if he sat in on these sorts of meetings every day. On the other side sat Hanuman, now the IG’s principal staff officer; Colonel Tarkeen, his hair having considerably receded since the first time that Constantine had met him; and Maqsood Mahr, who was wearing what appeared to Constantine to be an absurdly oversized neck brace. Mahr glared at him as he took a seat next to Akbar. He had been so involved with Akbar in the past two weeks since Shashlik’s arrest that he had forgotten that Maqsood was still technically his boss.

  The twenty-four hours since Nawaz Chandio’s visit to his office had not gone well for Maqsood. Word had spread very quickly via the departmental grapevine that the CM’s brother had humiliated Maqsood. It seemed to him that his authority was slipping away. This morning he imagined that he had seen the sentry at his house snickering behind his back. Dr. Death had been predictably furious. What had made it worse was Akbar’s performance in comparison to Maqsood. Upon hearing what had happened, Akbar had moved Shashlik to a secret location and dispersed the staff from his office, to ensure that there would be no further incident with Chandio’s fidayeen. As a result, when Nawaz finally got there, there was nobody around. Maqsood had been reduced to resorting to cheap, sophomoric efforts, such as purchasing the neck brace, to try and garner some sliver of sympathy. He looked at the confident expression on Akbar’s face and grimaced. Yes, Akbar was probably sizing up the drapes in his office.

  A side door opened and all of them rose as Dr. Death entered the room. His jaw seemed to be perpetually clenched and, as he sat down, Constantine could see Maqsood’s hand shaking and his lip quivering.

  It was Hanuman who spoke first. “Sir, as you are aware, you called this meeting to discuss the situation arising from the visit of Mr. Nawaz Chandio to the offices of the Special Investigation Cell. The purpose of Mr. Chandio’s visit was to snatch his associate Shashlik Khan from police custody. The update on this situation is that Akbar moved Shashlik to a secret location, and, as a result, Nawaz Chandio was not able to find him last night. But during his visit to the SIC, he and his men manhandled several officers, including the SP, Maqsood—”

  “Arre, sahib, what manhandled? Manhandled is too light a word. He has humiliated me. He has stripped me of my honor. I was almost killed by those thugs. But my life is unimportant. What is more important is that those criminals impugned the honor of the police. Sir, you may not be happy with me, but I still am a member of your force. An insult to me is an insult to you. I lay my izzat at your feet, sir.”

  “You should have thought about that when he was tearing your office apart.” Dr. Death glared at Maqsood.

  “What could I do, sir? He is the CM’s brother. I am a poor man from a village near their lands, sir. The Chandios would never forgive me if something happened to Nawaz. Punish me any way you want, sir, but this was beyond my capability. I am not the strong man you are, sir. See, you took on the UF, now you are fighting the jihadis. The men are demoralized. We all look up to you, sir. You are our commander. Please sir, you are the only one who can do anything.” Constantine and Akbar exchanged a glance. This was not how they had expected Maqsood to react. Constantine didn’t buy it, but something had obviously struck home with Dr. Death, who had restrained his anger and looked pensive. Hanuman’s face was inscrutable as usual, but, perhaps sensing where things were going, he spoke up again.

  “Well sir, it’s true that the Nawaz Chandio situation is an irritant, but in fact, we haven’t really lost anything. After all, Shashlik Khan is still in Akbar’s custody. They haven’t been able to free him. As long as that is the situation, we have nothing to worry about. I don’t think morale has been affected that seriously. We should handle the matter tactfully. What do you say, Colonel Tarkeen?”

  “Well sir, my organization had, as you know, opposed the arrest of Shashlik Khan in the first place. We felt that we could turn him into an asset to be used against jihadi groups. Akbar acted at the behest of our sister agency to apprehend hi
m, and we feel he acted too quickly.”

  “He was a criminal, Colonel sahib. That’s all there is to it as far as I understand.”

  “Well, be that as it may, Akbar, but in any case what’s done is done. I also think we should proceed further in this matter with some tact, especially knowing Nawaz Chandio’s mercurial temperament.”

  “No.” There was a finality in the way Dr. Death spoke that one word. He picked up the phone and asked to speak with the Chief Minister. Everyone waited in silence for the call to be connected, with a growing sense of trepidation. The call came through, and the IG cradled the receiver in his hand. Without bothering with pleasantries, he got straight to the point.

  “Sir, your brother has violated the sanctity of one of my police stations. Now I may not like the officer who was in charge there, but he is still my officer. I am the commander of this force, and I cannot hold my head high if they think that I am unable to control one man and his group of hoodlums, just because he is your brother. His men have to disarm themselves, and he has to submit to the law, otherwise I will not have the moral authority to act against the UF or even these jihadis. I am sorry, sir, but I have to arrest Nawaz. I am not asking you to make him surrender, but I am informing you that I will go after him. I understand that this may be a difficult choice for you, but this is why you appointed me. To make the tough choices. I would appreciate your support in this matter. If you cannot give me that support, then I am afraid I can no longer serve as your inspector general under these conditions.”